Cold Comfort
by Hawki
Summary: Oneshot: It wasn't easy for Tyrael, travelling to Bastion's Keep. Not so much in that Azmodan's forces were heading for the fortress as well, but that it was situated in the Dreadlands. A realm created by the destruction of the Worldstone. By his failure.


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**Cold Comfort**

Tyrael is uneasy.

He acts stalwart. Archangel of Justice (or former angel). Now mortal. Heavily armoured, wielding a sword like he's done so for thousands of years (probably has, all things considered), leading this party of heroes to Bastion's Keep. The only thing standing between Azmodan and the rest of Sanctuary. It's enough to fill anyone with dread. Glancing back at the rest of her party, from warrior to blacksmith…Leah can tell that they're all dealing with their own brand of fear.

Which is a measure of comfort to her. It proves that she's not the only one who's terrified.

Her mother seems to be the only exception. Maybe it's because she's had to stay one step ahead of the forces of Hell for two decades. Not like her daughter, Leah reflects. Walking to the head of the column, she smiles softly at her, receiving nothing in return. And perhaps that's for the best. Until the Lord of Sin is sealed in the soulstone, there's precious little to smile about.

And yet, as she does the same to Tyrael, the end result is the same. And that unnerves her. But as they enter the Dreadlands, as the wilderness of the Sharval Wilds gives way to a barren wasteland, she begins to understand why. She understands why, because the look on Baldur's face is exactly the same.

"The Dreadlands…" Tyrael murmurs. "The site of my failure."

It's a few words more than what Baldur has uttered, which has so far amounted to nothing. Indeed, the entire party has fallen silent. Even if the Dreadlands haven't got to them, perhaps there's nothing more that needs to be said. They'll fight Azmodan, they'll win or they die. And if they win, they'll have all the time to talk in the world.

There's a bit of chatter here and there-Lyndon is still flirting with every female behind Leah, Vodoun makes the odd comment on how different this land is to the Torajan Jungles while Valla tells him to stop complaining, that she's ventured into the Dreadlands many times. And yet, the Archangel of Justice remains silent. And with Uncle Deckard gone, Adria's mood darkening and Aunt Gillian Light knows where…it's strange, but it seems like the closest thing she's ever had to a father. Minus the whole prince possessed by the Lord of Terror aspect.

"It happened here…didn't it?" Leah murmurs eventually.

Tyrael looks down at her. Still silent.

"Mount Arreat. The Worldstone. Its corruption by the Lord of Destruction."

Tyrael nods. Like Baldur, it doesn't seem like something he wants to talk about.

"Snow? Great. It _has _to start snowing now, doesn't it?"

"Shut up Lyndon."

Leah glances upward-it is indeed snowing. Not ash snow, not demon snow (if such a thing exists), just…snow. Something that she's only rarely felt, and if the icy wind is anything to go by, something she'll probably be feeling a lot more once Bastion's Keep is reached.

"And here we are again," Tyrael muses. "Only this time, the final battle won't be in Mount Arreat itself."

It seems like cold comfort to him, Leah reflects. And unlike Lyndon who's doing his best to lighten the mood, it isn't a pun.

"You know…I don't know how much authority I can speak with…" Leah begins. "What happened twenty years ago."

"Best not to speak at all," Tyrael murmurs, gesturing with his head to Baldur.

"But…I don't think you should shoulder such blame."

"Why?" the former angel snaps. "Why should I not feel guilty for letting Baal corrupt the Worldstone? Why should I not regret that history is repeating itself? Why should I not feel guilty about everything that's happened since-…"

"Because…" Leah struggles for words. She's never really had to give a pep talk before, especially not to one who's her senior by millennia. "You…gave us time? Prevented the Worldstone and all of humanity festering as a corrupted being?"

"And accomplished what?"

Leah sighs. This is harder than she thought. Even harder than facing demons-at least with them, it's a simple matter of kill or be killed. She glances at her mother, but again, nothing comes back. If anything, her visage has darkened even further.

"Tyrael…" Leah begins. "At New Tristram, at Deckard's funeral…I asked what did you know of sacrifice?"

The former angel remains silent.

"But it was a foolish question. Because after everything…_everything _you've done…I don't think sacrifice is a stranger to you. I mean, how many would fight a one man war against the forces of Hell? How many would act as humanity's advocate despite the misgivings of the Heavens themselves? How many would even sacrifice their own material form to save us yet again?" She lets out what she hopes is a comforting smile. "You've sacrificed so much. And even if no-one else in this world knows it…well, I'm here, aren't I? If you hadn't done what you did at Mount Arreat, I probably wouldn't be."

Tyrael remains silent. The wind howls. Leah shivers. And while the wind picks up strength, and while Tyrael remains silent, the third part of that chain of events changes as Tyrael takes off his cloak, draping it over the young woman.

"Here," he says, breaking the first part of that chain as well. "You need this more than me."

She glances up at him. "Are you-…"

"I've sacrificed much. I can sacrifice warmth as well. Besides…" He trails off before smiling faintly. "Being cold in this manner. It's…interesting."

Leah smirks. The former angel smiles back. And at the back of the column, Lyndon finally tells a good joke that isn't based around women.

And in the distance, Bastion's Keep looms.

And taking Tyrael's hand in one of hers while carrying her bow in the other, Leah gets ready to see how far sacrifice can take them.


End file.
